


In Pursuit of Difference

by whereallthebirdswent



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: AU, F/M, Hopefully more characters to come, None of this will make sense, Time Travel, Title will change if I can come up with something better, wellenore - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-06 07:31:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8740486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereallthebirdswent/pseuds/whereallthebirdswent
Summary: Time Travel AUTo find oneself stuck in time is a peculiar situation. Especially with a broken Time Machine, a ghost helping you out, and all those other people you meet along the way.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So. . . This took a while. I'm awful so expect infrequent updates, nothing making sense, and a storyline that sucks because I never thought it out properly. Lastly, disclaimer, because my love for Poe Party means only nerdiness.

He had wished to be away. Far away.

When such a desire occurred at such a young age, HG had spent the better part of his life trying to pursue it. Endless inventions had filled his mind, but this seemed to be the strongest of them all: to build a time machine had been all HG had ever wanted.

The thought had started when HG was young, listening day in and day out to the arguments echoing through the thin walls of the house. He was, and always had been, a peculiar, awkward boy who had few friends, and those that he did spend his time with were often wary of him. They found his scientific way of thinking strange, his shyness unappealing and his sadness devouring. So HG busied himself with his own mind, his thoughts, and the never-dying desire for change.

All those reasons were, perhaps, why he decided to build the Time Machine.

It had been a creation of complete and total beauty. It had loomed high above any other contraption in his workshop, shinier and newer than the lot of them. That had been earlier. Now, after the first and soon only use, it was broken and coated in a flaking layer of ash. The wires sparked and hummed loudly.

HG pulled his goggles from where they rested around his neck and put them over his eyes. He searched his pockets for the coil of wire that seemed to be a part of him, and when he finally found it, he was disappointed to see there was hardly any left. He turned to the case that rested on the grass behind him.

As the inventor leaned over his tools, the Time Machine made a loud crumpling noise. It blew air from its engine, spluttering in defeat. At once, a large spark erupted from an exposed wire, distracting HG, who turned just in time to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness.

Moments later, the Time Machine died.

HG, dropping his spanner with strong defeat and shock written across his features, felt the realisation dawn. Without the Time Machine, there was no possible way to get back to his own time. 

“Oh, fiddlesticks.”


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me forever! Anyway, it's here now so. . .

The bar was smoky, full and unlike anywhere HG ever wanted to be.

By the time he had first entered the small pub on the corner of the street, it was drawing near to early afternoon, and the bar was already buzzing with activity. Men reclined in their seats, lighting pipes and creating a smoky veil over the low-lit scene. Drink glasses clinked together and chatter hurt one’s head if focused on for too long. 

HG stood against the wall, trying desperately to worm his way towards the bar. Poking out of the breast pocket of his waistcoat, aside from the gleaming silver pocket watch he kept, a slip of paper with a name on it sat. It was a name HG had kept with him since first building his time machine: the name of someone who could help him.

As HG neared the bar, the more compact the room became. A glass filled with fizzling amber liquid was pushed into his hand, one he pushed aside, as he out yelled out for the bartender’s attention. It was not received: HG’s voice was drowned out in the obnoxious din from those surrounding him.

HG pushed through the people, a task that seemed quite difficult considering the masses that surrounded him. Someone pushed him, the side of his goggles that hung about his neck pushing upwards to his face. Momentarily blinded, HG staggered aside, only to be pushed backwards, almost knocking into two people. He muttered his apologies. One of the people shoved him forward again, whilst the other exclaimed a gentle: “Hey!”

Nervously, HG turned himself round to face the person of whom he had just bumped into. Before him a saw a pretty lady, who looked entirely out of place in her long white dress. Between two fingers she lazily held a drink, sipping it whilst looking at and judging HG.

“I’m terribly sorry,” mumbled the awkward inventor. “My apologies.” Unfortunately for him, HG was forced to speak louder to be heard of the commotion surrounding him. 

The lady downed the rest of her drink. “Where are you off to in such a rush?” 

“I was hoping to get the attention of the bartender, but he seems not to have noticed me,” admitted HG. “I was wondering if he could help me find whoever this person is.” 

The lady appeared suddenly interested. “I could help you,” she offered, in a tone that made it appear like it was no big deal to her. “I’ve been here a long time. I know a lot of people.”

“You could?” asked HG.

“Sure,” responded the lady. “Do you maybe want to go somewhere quieter? Where I can actually hear you?” She gave HG another smile, and HG nodded to her comment. 

The lady slipped off the barstool and led the way outside. HG followed, grateful for the cool breeze on his face and the quiet that came with leaving the bar. He was about to offer the lady the piece of paper with the name on it when she quickly said:

“I’m Lenore, by the way.”

“H.G Wells,” responded HG. Out here, he could see Lenore better: she had dark hair that settled about her shoulders, a pretty face and dark eyes that caught his and held their gaze. 

“So, am I supposed to call you HG for short? Wells? H? HGW?” 

“HG would be fine.” Pause. Again, he was about to present the slip of paper when Lenore carried on speaking, interest taking over.

“Are you from around here?” she asked. “It just doesn’t seem like it.” 

“I’m not.” Then, in a moment of pure impulsiveness and the fact that HG could not control what he said to Lenore, who, inexplicably suddenly made him feel trust, HG opened his mouth and said something he would either forever be thankful for or forever regret: “As a matter of fact, I’m from the future.”


End file.
